The internet loves a good archetype. We’re captivated by the idealized “tradwife,” her days filled with the comforting aroma of sourdough bread, a picture of nostalgic domesticity. Equally enchanting is the childfree woman, her Aperol Spritz in hand, a symbol of liberated autonomy. But the working mother, navigating the often-blurred lines between these two seemingly opposing worlds? Her story is rarely romanticized. Instead, she’s frequently portrayed as a harried, exhausted figure, overwhelmed by systemic and personal challenges, perpetually on the brink of a meltdown.
This image, while containing elements of truth, is incomplete. The working mother undeniably carries a heavy load. She juggles demanding careers, familial responsibilities, and the pursuit of self-care in a world often indifferent to her needs. She navigates systems designed for an outdated reality, where the traditional nuclear family with a stay-at-home mother is the assumed norm. But to focus solely on her struggles is to miss the vibrant, often joyful reality of her experience. It’s a reality I know intimately.
I love being a working mother. I relish the intellectual stimulation of my job, the engaging interactions with colleagues, the collaborative spirit that thrives in my workplace. I adore my son, his humor, his sharp mind, the unique bond we share. And most profoundly, I cherish the ability to fully experience both these worlds simultaneously. This wasn’t a given. Growing up in a lower-middle-class community, most mothers stayed home, not by choice, but out of necessity. My own mother, a working-class woman who didn’t finish high school, never had the opportunity to pursue her dreams, or even to envision them. The prevailing narrative was that motherhood demanded the sacrifice of personal ambition.
In stark contrast to that reality, I returned to work just five weeks after my son’s birth, helping finalize a play production. I continued working part-time during his infancy and toddler years, driven by both desire and financial necessity. My husband and I shared childcare costs, but my modest income made full-time care a difficult proposition. Yet, I never felt guilt. My motherhood wasn’t about sacrificing my identity; it was about balancing my needs with my son’s. My work provided an essential social and intellectual outlet, preserving a sense of self during a potentially overwhelming transition. Those hours away from being solely a mother allowed me to return to my family with renewed energy and presence.
Conversely, motherhood profoundly reshaped my work life. Before my son, I was prone to letting my career consume me, chasing fleeting victories and agonizing over minor setbacks. Motherhood provided a much-needed anchor. The quiet moments of caring for my son grounded me when work felt overwhelming; creative pursuits offered respite when parenting left me drained. More significantly, my son’s love revealed a profound truth: my worth isn’t defined by my accomplishments, but by the love and care I offer those I cherish.
Motherhood, unexpectedly, has made me a better professional. The awareness of time’s limitations has instilled a sense of urgency and focus, sharpening my priorities. It compelled me to take charge of my financial security. Before my son, I worked as a freelance writer, a job I loved, but one that offered little financial stability. After his birth, that equation changed. Launching my communications agency wasn’t just a practical decision; it was essential, allowing me to contribute equally to our family’s financial well-being while pursuing a career aligned with my values. Even my creative work feels bolder and more authentic. Motherhood has granted me the confidence to write with raw honesty, less concerned with external judgment—a perspective born from the understanding that internet opinions hold little sway over my daily reality.
This isn’t to paint a picture of effortless perfection. I still grapple with the familiar struggles: securing babysitters, cramming tasks into truncated workdays, the financial burden and time commitment of summer camps. The occasional pang of guilt inevitably surfaces—a late-night video game session, for example. I sometimes envy the freedom of my friends without children, or the smoother career trajectories of my child-free peers. The sheer logistical challenges of balancing a 40-hour workweek—considered the bare minimum in many countries—with the emotional, physical, and administrative demands of family life, community involvement, and personal needs, often leaves me breathless.
The harsh reality is that, decades after the second-wave feminist movement, our world remains largely ill-equipped to support working mothers, or mothers in general. The societal structures are misaligned: school schedules clash with work hours, workplaces are often designed for employees without caregiving responsibilities, and affordable childcare is scarce. The issue isn’t the fact that women (and an increasing number of men) juggle multiple roles; it’s the failure of our systems to adapt to this new reality.
The solution isn’t a nostalgic retreat to a past where women were confined to a single role, denied the chance to pursue their ambitions. The answer lies in building a society that embraces and supports women’s choices, whether they work out of necessity or desire. As authors Amanda Montei and Sara Petersen have eloquently argued, the purpose of motherhood writing is not romanticization, but truthful storytelling—embracing the contradictions and imperfections inherent in women’s lives.
Yet, another truth deserves emphasis: this modern approach to motherhood, adopted by so many of us, can be a source of immense joy. Sharing these stories is crucial—not only to inspire younger generations and counter the resurgence of regressive ideologies that confine women to the home, but to accurately reflect the multifaceted lives of contemporary women. Joy isn’t confined to a single path. Working mothers know joy too—a joy that is intricate, nuanced, profoundly personal, and deserving of recognition. It’s a joy we share with anyone who envisions a world where ambition and care coexist harmoniously. By telling these stories, we remind ourselves—and the world—that the modern family requires systems built for the realities of today, not the idealized past. And for me, that vision is as romantic as any sunlit balcony or freshly baked loaf.
